


That I Might Sit All Night and Watch With You

by JDSampson



Series: Counting Kisses [1]
Category: Project Blue Book (TV)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, M/M, counting kisses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-11
Updated: 2019-05-11
Packaged: 2020-02-29 20:04:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18785245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JDSampson/pseuds/JDSampson
Summary: It's a rough 24 hours when Quinn is temporarily blinded by an alien artifact leaving Allen to calm his partner who can't handle asking for help.Dedicated to my dear friend and beta - ZenaMyDog





	That I Might Sit All Night and Watch With You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Zenamydog](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zenamydog/gifts).



PBB :  That I Might Sit All Night and Watch With You

 

_In sooth, I would you were a little sick,_

_That I might sit all night and watch with you_

_King John_

 

Allen saw the flash of light in his peripheral vision and even that small glimpse was so intense he had to look away.  

_Now I am become Death, the destroyer of worlds._

But there was no mushroom cloud. No stormy skies. No flames shooting into the air.

The box.

Quinn.

Allen left the path he’d been following and ran up the grassy hill in the direction of the flash. When he reached the top, he saw Quinn at the bottom. He was on his knees, head bowed, hands over his face.

“Captain!”

He picked up speed on the way down, almost tripped and fell several times before dropping to the ground in from of this partner. Allen startled Quinn so badly, he had to grab him to keep him from tumbling back.

“It’s just me. What happened? Are you hurt?”

Quinn couldn’t answer because he was gasping for air like a fish out of his bowl. He had the heels of his hands pressed against his eyes and in between the gasps were moans.

“Michael! Was it the flash? Your eyes?” Allen took hold of Quinn’s wrists and tried a gentle tug, but Quinn wasn’t letting go. “Take your hands away. Let me have a look.”

“Oh God, it hurts.” Words pushed out between shuttering breaths.

“Let me see your eyes.” Allen let go of Quinn’s wrists in favor of a strong hand behind the Captain’s neck. “You’re going to make it worse, rubbing like that. Let me see.”

Slowly, Quinn stopped pressing on his eyes, but instead of dropping his hands to his lap, he reached out blindly until he found bits of Allen to grab on to.

“How bad?”

 

Allen expected to see burns around Quinn’s eyes, just like the burns on the children who saw the Flatwoods Monster. But there were no signs of trauma at all. Well, no burns, cuts or bruises. Quinn was shaking, muscles taut, barely able to speak. Trauma of a different kind.

“Not a mark on you. You’re still pretty.”

A huff of a laugh from Quinn. Then a long draw of air as he fought to regulate his breathing.

Allen ran his thumb gently over Quinn’s cheek. “Open your eyes for me.”

Quinn tried but all he could manage were a few rapid blinks. “The light hurts so bad.” Only there wasn’t much light at all, just the dusky red of a setting sun.

Allen cupped Quinn’s face with his left hand to hold him still as he gently pulled down on the lower lid.

Quinn jerked away. His hands went back to his eyes, but Allen caught them before they got there.

“Don’t do that. I think you have corneal flash burns. You definitely don’t want to rub.”

“Flash burns? That’s bad, right? Burned eyes. That can’t be good.”

Again, Allen touched Quinn’s face and again he pulled away. “It’s not as bad as it sounds. . . or feels. Flash burns usually heal in couple of days.”

“Days?” Quinn almost choked on the panic. “I can’t do this for days.”

“One step at a time, alright?” Calm and soft. “We’re going to stand up and go to the car, now. Keep your eyes closed and let me do the work, alright?”

Quinn nodded then added, “be careful of the box. I opened it. The flash was whatever was inside. Don’t open it.”

Allen looked around and the box was nowhere to be found. “It’s not here. The ghost must have taken it.”

“Not here? You have to find it. It’s dangerous.”

Allen got to his feet then pulled Quinn up by the arms. “Right now, I’m more concerned about you. I’m not going to leave you to chase down a guy with a ten-minute head start. We’ve done all we can today.”

He wrapped his arm around Quinn then led him back to the car. It wasn’t easy because Quinn resisted every step. Moving though space without the ability to see where you’re going was unnerving. And trusting your partner to watch your back wasn’t the same as trusting him to guide you across a field of unknown hazards.

“I’ve got you,” Allen assured, but it did little to quell Quinn’s nerves.

When they got to the car, Allen helped his partner into the passenger seat then went around and got behind the wheel.

 “Still hurts,” Quinn said, tentatively trying to open his eyes.

Allen reached across the seat and caught his hand before it made up to his face again. “It’s going to get better. I promise.” What he didn’t tell him was that before it got better, it was going to get worse. 

 

#   # 

Allen drove with one hand on the wheel and one hand on Quinn, when he didn’t need that hand to shift or signal. A few times, when he let go, Quinn’s hand came over to rest on his thigh or lightly clutch at his jacket. It was as if he needed to assure himself that Allen was still there.

As long as the car is moving, then clearly I’m here – was what Allen’s analytical brain thought, but his heart agreed with any scenario that made Quinn feel better. One problem. . . .

Allen pulled into a parking space and turned off the engine. “I have to run into the drug store for a few things. You stay here. I won’t be long. Do you want anything?”

Quinn shifted toward his voice. “For you to be back already.”

Allen laughed so he wouldn’t cry. It hurt to see his Captain so broken, so fearful. Quinn was the bravest man Allen had ever met. He played that part of himself down with jokes and silly complaints, but Allen had seen the man put his life on the line in order to protect fellow soldiers, strangers, even enemies. Quinn had faced the Nazis, UFOs and assorted human monsters, but facing down the darkness was more than he could bear.

“I’ll hurry.” Allen laid a hand on Quinn’s shoulder. Again, he jerked. “Try to relax. Okay?”

“Yeah, not going to happen but I appreciate the suggestion.”

“Try.” Reluctantly, Allen got out of the car and headed into the store. It was going to be a very long night.

 

Quinn listened to the car door close, then he turned and faced front as if that would make a difference. When the car was moving, it was easy to pretend they were on a road trip and all was well. He was used to sleeping in the car while Allen drove, trusting him to get them where they were going while Quinn refueled. But with the car stopped, without the soothing drone of the engine, sitting here with his eyes closed felt strange, lonely and a little scary.

He wasn’t blind. Just resting his tired eyes.

His brain wasn’t buying it. A test was in order. Quinn forced his lids open and the prickling pain turned into spikes in his brain. Just the air moving across his eyeballs hurt. Still he kept the lids open as he tried to focus on his own hand in front of his face. There was a shape, blob-like, indistinct. Two fingers, four fingers, it all looked the same.

Was this what Allen saw when he wasn’t wearing his glasses? That thought was oddly comforting. Then all comfort was lost when a dog barked. Quinn jerked, turned, expecting to see an animal but all he got were more diaphanous shapes. It was like being surrounded by ghosts.

He closed his eyes to lessen the pain, but the sting remained just as intense and now even more frightening. Back in the park, closing his eyes had helped but now even his lids couldn’t put out the fire.

Quick trip back to panic town with a side order of war flashbacks. A fellow pilot burning alive in his downed plane. A solider cut in half by an exploding land mine. Prisoners of war with more scars than clean skin.

Quinn forced his eyes open again if only to remind himself that he wasn’t in a war zone. That he was in a parking lot in Texas. Where the hell was the Professor? Habit made him glance at his watch and the realization that he couldn’t read the time felt like another dart piercing his brain.

Can’t see straight, but you’re not helpless. You want to know where the Professor is, go find him.

He opened the car door and stepped out. He listened for sounds of life and thought that would lead him to the front of the store. He closed the door and walked forward, arms out stretched as his eyes fought to evaluate the shadows and shapes.

A horn startled the hell out of him and that was followed by the squeal of brakes. He was frozen. Unable to take another step forward or back. He felt and sort of saw a body come in close.

“Oh my god, I almost hit you.” A young woman. “I’m so sorry but you stepped right in front of my car. How did you not see me? If I hadn’t hit the brakes. . . “

Despite the rising pain, Quinn kept his eyes open and tried to home in on where her voice was coming from. To his left and slightly down. “I’m sorry. I didn’t see you. My eyes—”

“Captain!”

This time he didn’t startle when Allen touched his arm. This time he was so grateful for the contact that he glammed on to his partner with both hands. Giving up the fight, he led his lids slid closed, but the damage had been done. The pain had ramped up to three times what it had been just minutes before.

“Not your fault,” Allen said, presumably to the young woman. “He has flash burns. He can’t see and he wasn’t supposed to get out of the car!” That part was definitely not aimed at the young woman.

“Call it turnabout, for all the times you didn’t listen to me,” Slightly humorous, but Allen wasn’t laughing. He physically turned Quinn around then led him back to the passenger seat.

“This isn’t funny. You could have been killed.”

“Twice in one day, not even a record.” said Quinn and he felt Allen’s frustration even without seeing his face. The professor was hovering close, one hand clutching Quinn’s, the other at the back of his neck again. The ‘pay attention when I’m talking to you’ position.

“Hide behind the jokes and smart remarks if it makes you feel better, but you’re not fooling me. I know you’re scared. I get it and I promise you; this will go away if you don’t make it worse. You have to listen to me.”

Quinn swallowed down the automatic smart response that nearly reached his lips and went with a time honored standby. “Roger that.”

Allen’s hand came away from his neck, gently breezed over his cheek and came to rest under his chin for a half second. It they were someplace private, what came next would have been a gentle kiss. But not here. Not with eyes watching. It wasn’t allowed. Wasn’t something men did.

Allen broke all contact and now Quinn had another pain to add to the growing list. At this moment in time, life was pretty damn crummy.

 

#   #  # 

By the time they reached the motel room, Quinn’s antsy meter was off the charts. He stood where Allen left him, stripping off his own coat and tie in a useless effort to get more comfortable. Allen set the drugstore bag on the desk, turned the chair to face into the room then slipped out of his own jacket before going into the bathroom.

He came back with towels, a wet washcloth and a glass of water. Quinn had found his own way to the chair and was waiting like a fearful patient at the dentist.

“This isn’t going to hurt,” said Allen. “I mean, no more than it already does.”

“Now whose joking.”

“I’m going to wash your face,” he said to avoid the startled moments of the past. “Keep your eyes closed.”

Quinn sucked in a breath that again made it seem like he was waiting to be tortured. “I need a cigarette.”

“That’s not going to happen right now.” Allen wiped the wet and soapy washcloth over Quinn’s face paying special attention to the area around his eyes and the eyelids. There were no obvious signs of chemical residue, but Allen wanted to be certain. As he worked, Quinn kept getting his hands into the mix, wiping away drops of water, brushing at the trailing end of the cloth.

“Michael, I’m warning you, if you don’t put your hands down once and for all, I’m going to tie them to the chair.”

Quinn huffed. “Feels stupid, sitting here doing nothing while you’re fussing over me.”

“I like fussing.” Maybe he’d done this out of order. Allen cracked open the pill bottle and dumped one capsule into Quinn’s palm. “Pain medicine.”

Without question, Quinn threw the pill in his mouth and tried to swallow it dry, but Allen pushed the glass of water into his hands. He drank, held the glass out into the air until Allen took it. “Aspirin?”

“Something a lot stronger. Medical grade. Should take the edge of the pain.”

“How the hell did you get medical grade pain pills?”

“I told the pharmacist I was a doctor. He didn’t ask what kind.” Allen picked up a dry towel and used it to dab up any moisture left behind.

Quinn caught his wrist with exceptional accuracy. “You prescribed these pills? Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

“Considering you’ve already swallowed it and given your current condition, now would not be a good time to stop trusting me. Tip your head back.” Allen reinforced the instruction with a manual manipulation of Quinn’s head. “I’m going to put drops in your eyes.” He used his thumb to gently roll back one eyelid then squeezed the dropper twice.

Quinn’s hand shot up knocking his dropper hand out of the way. “Fuck, that stings and yes, I know you’re going to tie my hands but ouch.”

Allen sighed. “I know you’ve dealt with worse than this, so can you just get it together until I finish up.”

“So much for sympathy,” Quinn grumbled. 

Allen rolled his eyes since Quinn couldn’t see it. “I’m sorry. I know this isn’t easy.” He cupped Michael’s face in both hands then kissed him gently on the lips. “Does that help?”

241

“Maybe a little.” Pout.

Allen kissed him again, but with a bit more fervor.

242

“Okay, I’m cooperating. No hands.”

Allen put drops in the other eye, listened to more complaints then prepared for the really hard part. He leaned in close, so his beard scraped the side of Michael’s face, a bit awkward with one sitting and one standing but Allen wanted that connection between them. He was already anticipating the fight that was to come and it hurt him to know that he’d have to be the tough one over the next 24 hours.

“I’m going to put gauze pads over your eyes and wrap it tight with a bandage.”

“Is that really necessary?” A touch of panic creeping into Michael’s voice. He was used to being in control and his vision was a big part of that. Most people wouldn’t notice, but Allen was well aware of the way his partner casually scoped out every new room, every new situation. Be prepared. Know the way out. Know the potential danger points. Soldiering was part of his DNA and it wasn’t in him to go in to a situation blind. And now. . .

Allen leaned back. “It’s very important that you minimize your eye movement and it’s just too tempting to use your eyes if they’re not covered. They need time to heal. If you keep using them, you’ll keep breaking the microscopic blisters and you could cause permanent damage. 24 hours and I’ll be right here with you the whole time.”

“Do what you gotta do.”

Not a ringing endorsement but good enough. Allen ripped the packaging off a sterile gauze pad. He used first aid tape to loosely affix it in place then did the same with the other eye. He finished by wrapping a long, long, length of gauze around Quinn’s head four times, running it over the pads on each pass effectively securing them so he could remove the tape.

“You okay?”

“Sure.” Quinn patted his shirt pocket, then his pants pocket. Came up empty.

“You’re looking for a cigarette.” So why not ask? Allen found a pack in Quinn’s jacket, shook one loose then lit it with the lighter. He lifted Quinn’s right hand and slid the smoke in between his fingers. “I still don’t think it’s a good idea. Even with those bandages its likely to irritate you eyes but if I don’t let you smoke, you’ll irritate me, so. . . “

Michael took a puff and almost instantly his body language changed to less guarded – but only for a moment. After the next puff, he paused and blindly starred in Allen’s direction. “Are you just going to stand there and watch me?”

“As long as you have a lit cigarette in your hand, yes.”

Quinn cursed under his breath and Allen didn’t miss the implication. Barely holding back another sigh, Allen scooped up the ashtray from the bedside table and put it on the desk.

“I put the ashtray on the desk to your left. Please be careful. I’m going to see if I can get us some dinner. Is there something you’d like?”

“I don’t care.”

Okay, moving into the sullen phase of the operation now. Allen called the front desk and vaguely explained that he couldn’t leave the room. Was there someone who could pick up dinner for them – happy to pay for the favor.

The desk clerk said his son was a dishwasher at the local diner so he was sure it could be arranged.

“Whatever the special is or whatever travels well. We’re not fussy eaters. Anything will be fine.”

And that was the truth. With all the traveling they’d done over the past year, they were both used to eating whatever local cuisine showed up on their plates. Allen was generally too preoccupied with the case to even notice what he was eating, and Quinn saw food as nothing more than a means to an end. You ate for energy and to stop your stomach from growling.

After he hung up, Allen sat on one of the two double beds and watched as Michael struggled to tap the cigarette ash into the ashtray. Wasn’t about to ask for help. That was not a good sign. Then the heel of his hand went back to his eye.

“Stop that.” Allen said, wearily.

Again, Quinn cursed, louder this time as he dramatically dropped his hand to his lap. Yeah, it was going to be a really, really long night.

 

#   #   #

Dinner was turkey, mashed potatoes and green beans with Cokes and – god bless ‘em – a thermos of hot coffee. It was hearty and tasted like home cooking. Allen had no trouble eating every bite on his plate. Quinn, on the other hand, mostly pushed his around on the plate sampling a small bite here and there.

“The pain pills will sit better in your stomach with food.”

“I’m not hungry.” Quinn’s hand crept across the top of the desk in search of --- Allen barely got there in time to stop the coffee cup from being knocked over.

His sudden movement made Quinn jump and they crashed into each other. “I wish you’d stop doing that,” Quinn ground out, jaw clenched tight. “Tell me if you’re going to—”

“Touch you?” Allen gently trailed his fingers from the edge of the bandage down the side of Michael’s face. This time he didn’t flinch away. This time he leaned in and made a soft, almost sobbing sound that shattered Allen’s heart.

“What if it doesn’t get better? You weren’t there. You didn’t see that flash it was like an atom bomb exploding in my face. What if I never get my sight back?”

“That’s not going to happen.”

“You don’t know that. Even if I lose only 10% of my vision, they’ll take my wings. Any more than that and I’ll be discharged. No more Air Force. No more Blue Book. No more you!”

Ah. That. Allen took Michael by the arms and pulled him up from the chair and into a warm embrace.

“I know you’re going to be fine. But if I’m wrong and you lose your sight and you lose Blue Book, you’ll never lose me. I promise.” He turned his head to punctuate the thought with a kiss on the cheek, then Michael turned too and their lips met.

Kiss 243.

Allen was counting. In his head, not out loud. He had started counting on day one as sort of an experiment. He’d never kissed another man before but when it happened, it felt righter than he ever imagined it would. He’d suspected even then that he wasn’t Michael’s first, but he never asked because he didn’t want to know. He liked thinking that he was special. That this thing that had developed between them was an anomaly that couldn’t not be. That wasn’t very scientific, so he started counting. Counting was concrete. It was data and more data was always good, especially when you didn’t know where you were going.

The first 30 kisses were easy to log. They were specific. Singular. Caught here and there as Allen got used to Quinn’s habits and timing. Never when there were other people around. Never on the base. Often in the car and mostly when there were in yet another motel room, in yet another state, investigating yet another case.

Things got messy after 30 because Quinn got messy. A fake alien encounter had gone wrong and a small boy had been badly hurt. Quinn blamed himself for not discovering the truth sooner, for not protecting the boy, as a result he spent the afternoon drinking and the night seeing solace from his partner.

Allen lost count of the kisses that night because there were so many, and they were so frantic and some were just lips sliding by his cheek or neck. After that, he had to install a new set of parameters as to what qualified as a ‘kiss’ and what was peripheral. He decided that adding 15 to the count was good enough for that night and there after only counted very distinct, individual kisses full on the lips. Like the ones he was getting right now.

244, 245, 246.

Then Quinn started getting sloppy. The pain pills had kicked in.

“Michael, you should lay down.”

“No.”

“Yes. I’ll put on the radio and sit with you.” He pulled back from the embrace allowing his fingers to roam for another few seconds. “Let’s get you undressed.” Allen reached for Quinn’s shirt buttons and again hands came up and nudged him away.

“I can do it, myself.”

Stubborn.

“Alright.” Allen left him to struggle with his shoes, shirt and pants while he turned down the bed and turned on the radio. He found a light jazz station and tuned until it was sharp. He himself preferred big band music but Quinn liked jazz. The current song sounded familiar though. . . after a moment he realized that it was a jazz version of How High the Moon. Funny.

Quinn got out of his shoes and shirt okay, but he was teetering dangerously as he tried to get out of his pants. Allen wasn’t going to intervene, but it was clear that the pain killers were kicking his butt.

“I’m going to help you because I don’t want to clean up the mess after you fall and hit your head on the desk.” He helped Quinn balance while he pulled off his pants, leaving him in boxers and an undershirt. Then he led him to the bed and helped him climb under the covers.

Allen doublechecked the lock on the door, switched off the lights except for the one on the bedside table then sat down behind Quinn who was laying on his side.

“How’s the pain?”

“Better. Still there but not as sharp. I just want it to be tomorrow.” He slurred that last word.

“I know.” Allen stroked his fingers up and down Quinn’s bare arm where it lay on top of the covers. It was rhythmic and soothing for both of them. It wasn’t long before Quinn was asleep.

Allen picked up his book from the bedside table, opened it to the marked page and began to read. For him, sleep would come later.

 

#   # 

 

Quinn woke up to the sensation of a hundred pins being driven into his eyes. He moaned, barely resisted the urge to press on his lids, then flung his arm out to the side expecting to feel Allen.

Nope.

The radio was off and even with the bandages over his eyes, he sensed the room was completely dark.

“Doc?” He moved his hand through the air as if expecting to find his partner further down the bed. “Doc?”

“I’m here.” But not here. Where was here?

The bed dipped and finally Quinn’s hand hit flesh. “Thought you left.” And that sounded way too needy and panicked.

“I went to the bathroom.”

Quinn’s hand found Allen’s chest, stroked down over flannel. “Pajamas,” he said disparagingly.

“I don’t know what you have against them. I like them.”

“I don’t. They get in the way.” Quinn shifted to sitting with his legs pulled in and slightly crossed.

“What’s the matter?” Light fingers stroking through his hair.

“My eyes are killing me. I need another pain pill.”

“It’s too soon. It’s only been a couple of hours.”

Quinn was sure he’d heard wrong. He had to have heard wrong. “What? No. It’s got to be nearly morning.” He shifted, antsy, legs folding and unfolding, knee bumping into Allen, hands reaching.

“It’s not even midnight.”

“Oh fuck.” He turned and threw his legs over the side of the bed. The blankets caught on one leg, making it an awkward move. He pulled too hard to free himself and the other leg bumped the nightside. “I can’t do this. Ten more hours? Twenty more hours. I can’t. I just need to try. . . I need to see something. . .  just for a minute.”

 

Allen got off his side of the bed and made it around in front of Quinn just as he started clawing at the bandages.

“Don’t do that.” As before, he caught Quinn’s hands but this time the Captain wasn’t going down easy. He yanked his wrists free and gave Allen a small shove.

“I’m losing my mind here! It can’t only be a couple of hours. You have to be wrong.” He got his fingers under the bandage and pulled until it started to unravel.

Allen almost let him do what he wanted. It hurt too much to fight with him but deep down he knew that it was more important to protect him even if it meant incurring Quinn’s wrath. Actually, wrath would be easy to deal with. The sorrow and anguish – not so much.

 “Michael, stop. I can’t let you hurt yourself.” Allen ran both of his hands over Quinn’s face forcing him to stop messing with the bandage. He ran his fingers back through Quinn’s hair; a soothing touch that was actually a means to tighten the loosened gauze. “I want to see those big brown eyes of yours as much as you want to show them to me, but not tonight.” Allen left a kiss on Quinn’s temple.

Not included in the count.

“A couple more hours and you can take another pill. Let’s get you tucked in again.”

“No. I can’t sleep. It hurts so bad, Doc.”

Another soft kiss, not on the lips. Not included in the count. “One second.” Allen stood up and as he stepped away, he felt Quinn’s gravitational pull. It was hard to resist. He needed to work fast. He pulled back the covers on his side of the bed, arranged the pillows upright against the headboard in the center of the bed, then arranged himself against them. He opened his legs, then grabbed the back of Quinn’s t-shirt and urged him to move backward. It was tangled and awkward for a bit, then Quinn was settled in front of him. He was scooched down so the back of his head lay on Allen’s chest. Allen managed to get the blanket over both of them, then wrapped his arms around Quinn. Like the earlier maneuver, it seemed like a cozy little snuggle, but it actually allowed him keep hold of Quinn’s arms so he couldn’t mess with the bandages.

“Just relax. I’m right here.”

Quinn shifted and grumbled under his breath but slowly settled into a position that worked. They were both quiet for a few minutes, then Quinn mumbled, “Talk to me, Doc. Tell me about the stars.”

“The stars? There’s a lot to say. We’ve found star charts that date back to 1534 BC. They were very important to the Egyptians and later the Greeks and the Chinese. They used the position of the stars in the sky to create calendars that helped them know when to plant crops. In some cultures, the star you were born under was extremely significant as it predicted your fate.”

“Kind of like you and Halley’s Comet,” Quinn said softly.

“I guess I was destined to study the sky.”

“And I was destined to fly through it.”

Fingers slowly strumming the length of Quinn’s bare arm. “You’ll be up there again. I promise.”

A moment of silence then Quinn again. “Tell me about your favorite star, cause I know you have one.”

Allen laughed softly. “A few actually. Lie still and I’ll tell you about all of them. . . . . “

 

#   #  #

Quinn slept fitfully for the next two hours until Allen finally gave in and allowed him to swallow another pain pill. His own back was aching from sitting up and tangling with his partner, so much so that he considered taking one of the pills himself.

By three, Quinn was out cold on his side of the bed, giving Allen his first chance to stretch out and truly let go since this whole thing started.

The next time Allen woke, daylight was streaming through the window, but it wasn’t the light that had roused him from his sleep. It was the sound of a crash followed by a string of curse words. The man was going to drive him to drink.

Allen sat up and blinked to adjust to the light and to focus without his glasses. He didn’t need them to see Quinn on the floor, the desk chair overturned and the upside-down ashtray on the carpet.

“What is going on?” Allen tried not to sound snappish but this whole scenario was getting very tiresome.

“Bathroom,” was all Quinn said.

“Heading to or coming out?”

“Out.”

So, no need to rush this. Allen righted the chair then sat in it facing his partner who wasn’t making any effort to get up off the floor. “The next time you need something, ask me.”

“You were sleeping.”

“Wake me. Let me help you. God knows you look after me all the time, let me do the looking after for a while.”

Quinn made a fist and pounded against the front of the desk. It was so unexpected. So loud and forceful, it was Allen’s turn to flinch.

“I have taken care of myself since I was 17 years old and now I can’t even take a piss without someone holding my hand.”

“To be fair, you’re loaded with pain killers. It’s a wonder you were even able to stand up.” 

“This is not how it was supposed to be!” Another fist to the desk. “I made it through a war, god damn it! I want these fucking bandages off!” Another punch and another.

A half a day ago, Allen would have pulled Quinn into his arms for a soothing hug, a caress, a kiss but now he was well and truly over it.

“This self-pity routine isn’t very becoming on you.” Allen got to his feet. “Do what you want, Michael. Sit on the floor, pound on the desk until your knuckles bleed, rip off the bandages. Whatever. I’m tired and I’m done.”

He went back to bed, laid down on his side with his back turned. A few months ago, when they’d first acknowledged their feelings for each other, it had given them the strength they needed to carry on. Now it felt like that shift in their relationship was working against them. That hurt more than Allen wanted to admit. So, he closed his eyes and rolled the film back in his head. Back to the flight suit zipper and drinks together in the bar. To Quinn’s wry smile and the first kiss that counted.

The bed dipped but he didn’t feel the warmth of a body moving close.

“I’m scared,” Quinn said so softly Allen barely heard him.

“I know.”

“No, you don’t. I got up because I had a nightmare. You were the one who opened the box and instead of a bright light, it was a bomb. I watched you die. And when I woke up, I remembered Fairchild. They murdered one of the most powerful men in the country and got away with it. You go around spouting off this theory and that. What if you say the wrong thing to the wrong person? One day you’re going to figure it out and. . . “

Allen rolled over to the sight of Quinn’s back. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, head in his hands.

“No one is going to hurt me. Not while I have you protecting me.” He meant it as kind of a joke, but it was fuel for Quinn’s fire.

He flopped back on the bed, bandaged eyes not starring at the ceiling. “That’s what I’ve been trying to say. If something happens to me, I can’t protect you. And I need to protect you. I need you to be there when I call. To make things better when it all goes wrong.” Quinn rolled to his side and they were facing each other only inches apart. “That’s what really scares me, the fact that I don’t know how to just be me, alone, anymore. Needing another human being this badly isn’t something I’m used to, and it sucks.”

Allen lifted his hand to brush the hair from Quinn’s forehead but didn’t make contact. “What are you saying? You don’t want to do this anymore? You want to go back to the way were? Just partners?”

“Were we ever just partners?”

Zip. ‘Nervous, doc?’

“I guess not.” Allen fell on to his back and stared up at the ceiling. “If we don’t keep moving forward, and there is no going back, then what? I go back to the university and pretend this never happened? I can’t do that.”

“If my eyes are permanently damaged, it’ll be a moot point. You’ll stay with Blue Book and they’ll get you a new partner.”

“I wouldn’t stay on. Not without you.”

Quinn let out a huff of a laugh. “Like you could give up the hunt, knowing what you know, having seen what we’ve seen – you think you could walk away?”

Allen thought about that a moment. “No. But I don’t need Blue Book to investigate. People know us. They talk to us. They’d reach out to us if we were doing this on our own.”

“Yes, they would.”

“But that doesn’t solve your problem.”

Quinn’s hands found Allen, then he guided himself forward until he was laying close with his head on Allen’s chest. “You could hypnotize me into thinking I’ve always been your slave.”

It was Allen’s turn to laugh. “That’s a bit drastic. How about I just convince you it’s okay to depend on the people you love.”

Quinn shifted again, hands leading the way until his palm was tickled by Allen’s beard. From there it was easy to find his lips. Quinn kissed him, hard, distinct and hungry.

“What number was that?” He asked when he was done.

“Number?”

“Come on, I know you’ve been counting. What number?”

“247.”

“How long do you think it would take to make that an even 300?”

Allen did the math. “If you could manage ten an hour, we’d could hit the target before breakfast.”

Quinn kissed him three times in quick succession. “250. I like even numbers.” He settled his head back on Allen’s chest, muscles loose. The adrenaline rush he’d experienced a few minutes ago was dropping out as the pain killers battled his body for control. “Doc.”

“Hmm?” Fingers stroking the length of Quinn’s back.

“Allen.”

“Michael.”

“If I fall asleep, will you watch over me?”

Allen swallowed hard as he felt a wash of tears well up and roll from his eyes. “Of course.  In sooth, I would you were a little sick, That I might sit all night and watch with you.”

“I hope that was Shakespeare because if it was regular English, then my brain is royally screwed up.”

“King John,” said Allen. He finished the quote in his head but didn’t let it leave his lips.

**_I warrant I love you more than you do me._ **

 “It’s not supposed to be like this,” Quinn said, voice already slurring as sleep and the drugs pulled him down.

It? Facing the possibility of blindness? A career chasing phantoms? Endless motel rooms with no family to go home to? Or caresses and kisses with another man?

Check all the boxes – this wasn’t the life Michael Quinn had imagined when he joined the Air Force at 17.

The big question, the one that kept Allen awake for the next half hour was which one of those “its” was causing Quinn so much pain and which one would be the final straw that made him say no more to it all.

 

The End

**Author's Note:**

> Here’s my OMG moment. I picked this Shakespeare quote because of the reference to sitting up all night and keeping watch. I had no idea at the time, that Arthur (the person who speaks the line) has orders to burn out his companion’s eyes with a hot iron. 
> 
> Must you with hot irons burn out both mine eyes?  
> Young boy, I must.
> 
> Freaky weird that in my story, Quinn has had his eyes burned. A total coincidence of the third kind.


End file.
